It took me five months to get my mother to stop saying she didn't think I was excited enough. She could only remember feeling so happy and excited about her pregnancies.... 30 years ago. I'm sure in 30 years, if the kids have finally left the house, that's all I'll remember too.
The constant parenting from nodding acquaintances and strangers is tiring. I'm tempted to pre-emptively announce "Decaf, dammit!" as I pass folks in the hallway after getting my one fake coffee a day. I work a busy night shift, and sometimes the best I can manage is a fast-food run -- someone always chides me. If they'd like to come over during the day and shop for and prepare a healthy, balanced dinner I can take to work, be my guest.
Then there's the one co-worker who had her nursery set up in her fourth month and, as she tells me daily, liked to sit in there every day and "anticipate." She's horrified that I haven't dismantled the office desk in our nursery yet, much less painted it and decorated it. I keep telling her, that probably won't happen until after the baby is born, and the reason is because I can't - and don't want to -- do it all myself while my husband is off working insane hours to clear projects off his desk before the final four weeks of our pregnancy. That's been hard enough for us to cope with without her trying to make me feel like I'm not doing enough.
And everyone is always trying to save me the trouble of walking anywhere: to pick up something off the printer, to throw something out, etc. They won't let me politely decline and do it myself. I end up explaining that moving around is good for me. Heck, my butt aches if I sit for more than 45 minutes.
I hear less about this, but men who leer at pregnant women really, really unnerve me.
Politically and socially, I've never been a mainstream chick. I know they mean well, but it cracks me up that people who wouldn't give me the time of day now treat me as a community treasure just because I am blessedly with child.